Moments in the alley
by Alurna
Summary: Graverobber is one of those people who is some inexplicable magnet of the world. Every ones seems to make their way through his alley at some point, and these are just scraps of his hastily scribbled diary. Reviews and comments welcome, but please be kind. Critique and honest helpful criticism welcome.
1. An Amber moment

Her song never changes, the drug dance is monotonous as well, and I feel my self cringe hearing her slightly breathy voice calling to me from the entrance of my alley. "Graverobber, Graverobber sometimes I wonder why I even bother." I swallow hard to fight the urge to slap that coy superiority off her face, the urge to try and choke it out of her voice.

"You bother because you're a scalpel slut Amber, just like all the others, and my Z is the best, not even pharmaceutical grade is better then what I sling." I give her my best wry smile, and bite back the loathing in my voice. I almost sound cheerful. Before she can continue the exchange I add. "Thats why you need me as well, Miss sweet. So, can we hurry this up I have things to do."

The soles of my boots echo off the bricks as I hop off the lid of the dumpster. I don't bother to watch Amber and her leather collar minions approach, instead I am digging in my pocket for my gun, and slipping a glowing vial of Z from the holster I fashioned to hold my supply. The sound of her boots get closer then stop just as I get the vial in, the gun is charged now and ready.

I look up just in time to see her new, too perfect lips pout. "It would be wise to play the game by my rules you know, observe the niceties and little rituals we share Graverobber. One word and I can bring the Gencops down on you faster then you can scream 'graves'."

I close the small space between us with one step, looking down into her beautiful, surgical enhanced face. She disgusts me, and she stirs me. I lied when I called her just a scalpel slut like all the others, there is no greater scalpel slut then Amber. Utterly lost to the lie of surgical perfection, she is as ugly on the inside as she is beautiful on the out side. Behind her eyes there is nothing, she is already dead, has been since before I knew her.

I have an affinity with the dead, always have. But in the darker corners of my heart and soul the dead terrify and repulse me. They make me feel my mortality, and my isolation. They do not feel me, are not drawn to me as I am to them, they cannot share a conversation or anything else with me. I can only take from them. Amber is my perfect corpse, the only one who sees me, feels me, and cares that I exist. Of course she only cares because I am her supply of Z, but no relationship is perfect.

"Call them Amber. Send me to my grave for my crimes, it will hurt you more then it could ever hurt me." I let my hand trace her jaw, the other tightens around the drug gun. I see the truth of my words flit across her face, and I smile. "No more threats. You need this..." My voice is soft and sensual as I drag the tip of the gun across her lower lip. "The zydrate the surgeons use doesn't do it any more does it?" her head shakes and she licks her lips, eyes wide staring into mine. "What you need is right here, and only I have it. It's clean...It's clear...it's pure...it's rare..." my voice is only a whisper, with what some might call a hint of gravel in it. "It will take you there...only I can take you there." I don't know what I would have said next because her perfect, surgeon gifted lips took mine.

She is a savage little thing, bitting and clinging to me. She whimpers into my mouth as I use my one free hand to roughly grab the one of hers that snaked its way under my coat and shirt to my bare skin, her nails taking pieces. My other hand still holding the gun, holds her head in place as I give her back the savagery she offered me. Bruising and gnawing at her mouth till I taste just a hint of copper and salt, not sure which of us is bleeding, maybe we both are.

I move the hand holding her head in place for the kiss, and drag the tip of the Z-gun down her neck, then down over her shoulder, then the curve of her breast because there is not room enough between us to bring it down her front. Amber feels like she is trying to crawl inside of me the way she is pressing into me, and my body is aching for so much more then this assault of lips. My mind runs frantic images of the ways I want to take her, and I do the only thing I can do right now to end this agony. I keep moving the gun lower, as I back her against a wall hard. The force knocks her breath into me and I suck it in, giving a soft moan after. I use one of my knees to roughly nudge her legs apart, and her hips grind against me like a question hanging unanswered in the air.

My breathing is ragged and fast. I fight past the burning lust, past the aching need, my hand with the gun now tracing up her thigh. She jerks her hand out of my other hand, and forces it between us. My gun finds the sweetest spot, that tender crease where thigh becomes hip and then becomes her soft downy sex. Her hand slides over the fabric covered hardness of my cock just as I pull the trigger, the gun sparks, and she gives the sweetest moan breaking the kiss. Her body goes limp slowly, as she whispers. "I can't feel nothing at all."

I turn my head and look at her collared boy toys, and say "Miss Sweet is ready for surgery." I push off the wall and away from Amber, not bothering to look to see if she falls. I don't hear a thud as I begin to walk away, but I do hear the sound of scrabbling feet as one of the boy toys rushes to her. The other holds out a coin, loaded with my fee, the number flashing dimly across its face. I take it and tuck it into my pocket and keep walking, trying to push down the loathing, and sorrow. I fucking hate Amber Sweet...and I miss her already.


	2. A Few Moments with Rotti

His fists finally stop, and I am amazed to still be drawing ragged pain studded breath, and that such a fat old bastard can level such deadly punches. But then again Rotti Largo was descended from good old fashioned Italian mafia before he became the false savior of the world, so such skill should not have come as a shock.

"Not you or any of the other pushers are to ever serve Carmela again, is that clear?" His voice is hard but the softer roughly cultured tenor of it comes through. He is huffing and puffing, a big bad wolf in a designer suit come to blow my world down. Taking a beating is par for the course in my line of work (not many delivered as expertly as this one), but I know Largo can make me vanish. He has money, power, and if rumors are true, has access to the secret mass graves of the repossessed, and those who die under the knife. A man like that asks you a question, he expects an answer and all I can do is nod through the haze of my own blood in my eyes. I know it wont be enough and that I had better find my voice soon before he thinks I need more persuasion. I can finally force a cough a second or two later and I spit out a mouth full of blood and part of a tooth, my tongue automatically runs along the line of my teeth and finds one of my lower back molars had cracked and given way. I know it will hurt once the other pains dull down a bit, but I can't bother to focus on that in the moment.

"I can put the word out, but it don't mean shit. Money talks Largo and you know it." I manage to my feet, tottering a bit like a drunk to achieve it. "Working me over, hell killing me won't do a damn thing, most of the Z dealers don't have my scruples you know...and they sell the dirty stuff. You ever see what it does to a body if it's not the pure glow?" Largo actually seems to be contemplating what I have said, and I push my luck a bit farther. "Amber...errr I mean Carmela, has been lucky so far, mainly because she deals with me and I have scruples, and skills. If I cut her off it does not solve the problem." I do my best to get my face and attitude back in place, it's my armor and though it won't do a thing against a man like Rotti Largo, it makes the fear die back enough to think. I am standing on my own, and doing my damnedest to keep steady and look it as well, but nausea is building along with the more throbbing intense pain that settles in once the adrenaline starts to clear. I am putting the last of my strength into this, and it will fail me far to soon, I need this over with so I can get to a safe place to lick my wounds.

Largo's steel and concrete facade starts to crack a little, and he seems to forget he has just tried to mash my ribs in to dust and make my face into so much ground meat. He looks older suddenly, tired and sad with concern. "What else can I do? She won't get help, and eventually this will get out, and her chance for a life, a career will be finished. Bad enough she will tarnish my name and all I have built, but she will destroy her self." He runs a hand over his face, and winces when he moves his fingers. His knuckles are already swelling and bruising, and I can't hold back the cold grin at seeing it, least my face did some damage as it was being bashed.

With his rage spent, I can begin to see more truly the man who stood in my grimy alley. He is rich, and the most powerful man in the world by virtue of it being crippled by the failing organs of it's inhabitants. This tin god has people surrounding him, but not a confidant in any of them. He is utterly alone, and I am so far beneath him and most of society because of what I do, that he doesn't need to hide behind being Rotti Largo. It does not make me any safer, but it does give me an edge, a chance to be of enough worth to maybe see another day. Of course I could be wrong, and end up with the dead I am so fond of.

"The only thing you can do is slow the rate at which she self destructs at this point." It's the most true thing I could have told him, and also the most risky. In a flash he has changed back into the hard son of a bitch who strode into my alley, and he grabs the furred front of my jacket and slams me into the wall. It makes the pain flare and little sparks flare to life at the edges of my vision, but I can't let his anger get a foot hold so I force my self to continue. "You love your daughter, and I hate to be the one to have to throw some truth at you, but you got where you are because you can see the truth in the world. Supply and demand, survival of the best, and the nature of people. If you put aside your emotions a moment you will see I am right. I don't know what made her this way, but she is a knife addict and a z junkie. If she won't help her self, and find a way to make her self live, there isn't a damn thing any one else can do. Carmela is gone, Amber has replaced her, and all Amber is looking for is the right knife to fall on, the thing that will finally cure her of kill her. There isn't a cure, so all you can do is minimize the damage she does on her way out." I force my self to keep my tone steady and my words from rushing out giving them a pleading tone. I don't let my eyes wander, I just keep looking at him letting him see the truth of my words and the sincerity.

"Just give up on my daughter?" He snarls.

"No, that wouldn't work in the end I suppose, keep trying to save her but don't let it cloud the issue or cripple you. Make it work with you though." My voice is back to normal now, not my natural tone, but the one I use for most of my dealings. Calm, and low pitched, and oh so rational and convincing. I can sell just about anything with this voice. I don't think it will work all that well on Largo, so I give him something of actual worth, not the snake oil I usually peddle. I give him truth, and my reward is he slowly lets me go as he absorbs it.

The hard as nails tin god, and the sad old man blend now, and he nods. "And I suppose you get to keep peddling to her?"

I flash a wry smile and shrug. "Yes, but I raise my prices. I tell her it's because of the increased risk of her high profile. If she pays she gets her hit, but you get a call from me. I keep tabs on her for you. You know how much how often, and any information I come across about her. If she is buying from other sources, if someone might be looking to make a name for them selves by telling tales. She never knows I am feeding you the information, and I make sure she gets clean Z, and a safe dosage as well. You had no trouble finding me, and I know the kind of people you have in your pocket so I won't be inclined to be stupid and make problems, unless I want to be dead on the concrete."

"And you get a reasonable amount of immunity as well from the gencops out of it too, because of the nature of our arrangement." He adds coldly and I nod. "Fine, but your operation does not get bigger. I am not going to set you up to be the Z king of my city."

"I only deal what I can supply, and I do not sell bulk to other dealers. It leaves room for modest growth but not more then one man can do." Largo nods, then gives me a cold grin. "And of course I understand you can terminate our arrangement at any time, but I am locked in to these terms, if I value my life. Fair?"

He looks me over, and thinks a few moments. I do my best to pretend to be casual, but I am starting to slouch around my aching ribs, and despite the cold of the night I can feel a layer of sweat beading up on my face. The world keeps trying to fade out into gray, but I keep pushing at the clouds to keep sharp. I do my best to ignore the fact that I am selling my self out to Rotti Largo, that despite being maybe the only person in the whole damn city not paying off organs or unneeded vanity improvements I am now just as tangled up with Largo and through him all of Genco. Beaten to a pulp and in his pocket, what a shitty night, and I am not certain I am better off then I would have been if I had just let him beat me to death.

"We have a deal Mister..." He pauses almost ridiculously trying to find an appropriate name to call me.

"I am not mister anything, I am just Graverobber." I bail him out, and realize that he may be a thug but this man spends most his time in business dealings more civilized then this and it threw him off for a moment. It is funny and I tuck that moment away to laugh at later, a couple months later after my ribs knit.

We shake hands to seal the deal and Rotti Largo leaves my alley with his femme fatale gun toting body guards. The sound of their heels die out quickly and I know the alley is empty but I look to make sure, then I let my self crumble a bit and let the pain take me, and I heave the contents of my stomach up. After what feels like an endless agonizing span of time I manage to start walking carefully to my squat. Any other night I might have just holed up in my favorite dumpster, but I was not entirely sure I was not going to die and I'd be damned if I was going to do so in a bin. Also, if I was cursed with the blessing to survive this, I would be out of business for at least a week and needed something warmer and more secure then the alley. But the biggest reason I forced my self to move was simply if Amber formerly Carmela fucking Largo happened to be looking for a fix anytime soon it was best I was not around until I could be sure I wouldn't strangle her on general principle.

As I held my ribs and limped through the loose plywood over a busted store front window that was the place I had taken over as a squatter, I realized someday Amber Sweet would be the death of me. I could only hope to take her with me when that time came.


End file.
